


Home for a Heart

by redambitions (viridianlight)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridianlight/pseuds/redambitions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't have a home or any hope until he met Enjolras.<br/>He didn't know longing or regret until he met Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coffee Spilled by a God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew even gods needed coffee?

Grantaire sat in the coffee shop with his head on the table and his backpack as a pillow. The rings of his sketchbook poked out from the bag, leaving indents on his arms. His ratty jacket hung behind him on the chair. His curly, black hair flopped over his bare arms, lifting slightly with every exhale. He could hear the last employee clearing the tables and cleaning off the tables, preparing to close up the shop. They were usually kind enough to let him stay until the last minute, then again, he just refused to move from his seat until he finally got kicked out.  
Everyday was the same. The lights would flash on and off and eventually turn off and the last employee would yell at him to get out. But, unexpectedly, tonight was different.

Just as Grantaire was beginning to doze off, the bell over the door rang and the door slammed behind whoever came in. The shuffling and moving of chairs stopped as the worker said, “Hey dude, we’re closed, get out.”

“Your sign says you’re open. Come on, I’ll pay. Just get me some coffee,” a tired and dreary voice said. Even with such an exhausted tone, the voice was still strong and confident, almost making Grantaire wanting to look up to see who it was. Almost.

The worker sighed and asked what the newcomer wanted. Grantaire paid no attention to what he ordered, just adjusted his bag and tried to get back to sleep before he was kicked out of the warm store.

All of a sudden, Grantaire heard a swoosh of fabric, a small gasp and then hot liquid splashed onto Grantaire’s arm. His head popped up as the burning coffee stung on his arm and stained the edge of his sleeve.

“Ah! I’m sorry!” the man said and Grantaire looked up. The man was, in one word, godlike. His wavy, golden hair framed his defined face. He had blue eyes like the sky with pale eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. The fluorescent lights behind him gave him halo, but he wasn’t a mere angel, he was Apollo.

“Uh, it’s fine, no problem,” Grantaire said, although it was a problem. This shirt was one of his only shirts. He was tongue tied, something that would never happen if he had had any form of alcohol in his system. He had a bottle of beer earlier but that barely affected him now.

They stood there for a moment in silence until that employee shooed them out. Grantaire stood up slowly and stretched his arms over his head. “Well, it’s time to go. I’ll see you around,” he said casually (even though he wanted to stare at that man for — oh, he didn’t know — an hour or so), glancing back at the man as he walked towards the door.

He was already out the door and halfway down the block when he heard someone call from behind him, “Wait!”

Grantaire turned around to see that handsome young man standing in the doorway, clutching his half full cup of coffee. “Wait. Wait, what’s your name?”

After a pause, Grantaire answered, “Grantaire, or R, either one.”

“I’m Enjolras,” he said, smiling slightly.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like the sweetest chocolate, or in his case, some delicious vodka. “Well, Enjolras, hopefully I’ll see you here again.” he raised his hand in farewell and left with a secret smile on his face and his heart pounding in his chest.


	2. Story of a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every stranger has a story, but Enjolras only wanted to know his.

Enjolras had never been this tired in his life.

First, his idiotic professor spent an entire reading from and lecturing them on a book that Enjolras had memorized months ago. He had whispered every word accurately under his breath while Combeferre dutifully took notes next to him. Then, he had a rally on the campus, handing out pamphlets and rousing up the crowd with one of his “legendary” speeches. Many people had congratulated him on his speech today, when actually, it was one of his worst ones. Afterward, he learned from Combeferre (who actually listened to the class) that their idiotic professor had assigned reading homework and to write a summary. A summary. Who would read or write a summary when the actual book sat right in front of you? Enjolras also had to plan another rally, be annoyed by Courfeyrac about girls he had flirted with and listen to Marius’s multiple rants about this girl he had suddenly fallen in love with but was too scared to talk to.  
He should be used to all that by now, but after a while, he just couldn’t take it, especially since he lived off of about four hours of sleep everyday.

After hours of sitting at his cluttered desk, staring at his work, Enjolras realized that he really had no energy left to do anything, let alone tedious busy-work. He had almost fallen asleep a few times already, so he gave in and decided to go for a late night coffee run.

He grabbed his jacket off of the back off the chair and headed out the door. He walked down the street to the local coffee shop and walked in even though the store was empty except for two people, one working and one sitting at the table. He accidentally let the door slam behind him, but he was too tired to care. The person cleaning up around the store looked up and said, “Hey dude, we’re closed, get out.”

Enjolras was annoyed but too exhausted to lecture the employee. He wouldn’t take his money for a few minutes of easy work. That money could probably support an unfortunate family for a month. “Your sign says you’re open. Come on, I’ll pay. Just get me some coffee,” he said wearily.

The worker sighed and asked him what he wanted. Enjolras ordered a latte with extra shots of espresso. He was going to need the extra caffeine to get him through the night. He stood there, impatiently tapping his foot as the worker assembled his drink. Finally, his coffee arrived and he hurriedly grabbed it off the counter, paid and walked towards the door. He wasn’t watching where he was going and accidentally bumped into a table corner. He let out a small gasp as his uncapped drink spilled onto the arm of the sleeping man.

“Ah! I’m sorry!” Enjolras immediately exclaimed. The man looked up and stared at Enjolras. He stared right back at the stranger just as intently. He was not the most handsome individual but he had something that intrigued Enjolras. The gray eyes that looked at him were filled with a fire but also deep hopelessness. He had a head of curly, black hair and a small amount of stubble on his chin.

“Uh, it’s fine, no problem,” he said after a moment’s pause, still staring fixedly at Enjolras.

The two of them stood there awkwardly for a while until the worker told them once again to get out. The man stood up and stretched his arms above his head. His t-shirt lifted slightly, revealing the waistband of his jeans hanging on his narrow hips. His old belt was buckled loosely and wasn’t holding up his jeans at all. A bit of his green boxers was peeking out. Why he was looking at that, he had no idea. Enjolras blinked a few times and moved his gaze back up to the man’s face.

“Well, it’s time to go,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” He walked towards the entrance, backpack slung on his shoulder and jacket draped across his arm. He glanced back at Enjolras quickly then walked out. Enjolras watched until he realized that he wanted — no, needed — to know that man’s name, his personality, his story.

“Wait!” he yelled, running after him and stopping at the doorway. “Wait, wait. What is your name?”

The man turned and answered. “Grantaire, or R, either one.”

“I’m Enjolras,” Enjolras replied, smiling as he repeated Grantaire over and over in his head.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said softly. “Enjolras, hopefully I’ll see you here again.” He raised his hand to say goodbye and left without another word.

Enjolras stood there, watching as he left. He hoped that they would meet again. Now that he knew his name, he wanted to know who that man was. He wanted to know the story of Grantaire.


	3. World Contained in a Sketchbook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world outside was disgusting, but the world in his sketchbook was beautiful.

“Mister, your pictures are really pretty.”

Grantaire had been sitting on his regular park bench, doodling pictures (of a certain blonde, curly haired god/man). He looked up from his taped-up and torn sketchbook to see a young girl with wild, red hair in a ponytail bending over to see his doodles. She clutched a small blue camera in her hands and wore a cutesy t-shirt that was sold at at least five street vendors around there. She must have been a tourist.

“Thank you, miss,” he said, earning a bright smile from her. “Are you a tourist?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding, her hair bouncing crazily. “My family and I came to visit my auntie ‘cause she just moved here. I’ve never been to a city before! We live in the country, so this is all so exciting!”

“Wow, that’s cool. How are you liking it so far?”

Her face lit up as she said, “It’s wonderful! There’s so many people and tall buildings. And there’s a lot of lights and cars and everyone’s so busy and running around. I wish we could live here but Mom and Dad like the countryside better.”

Grantaire nodded occasionally as he listened to the girl ramble. He sketched quickly on a fresh piece of paper and then filled in the shapes with his short, stubby colored pencils. He loved to watch the colors flow across the page, making things out of seemingly random lines. He finished with a small flourish, signing “R” in a corner, hidden with the blades of green grass fluttering across the page.

Just as the young girl was called over by her parents, Grantaire tore out the piece of paper from his sketchbook and handed it to the girl.

“Here, this is for you,” he said as her eyes sparkled happily.

It was a picture of the city skyline, the clouds floating across the page and tall skyscrapers rising from sidewalks and trimmed lawns of parks. Grantaire had tried to capture what the girl saw in the city: big dreams and full of life, the opposite of what he saw.

The city to him was disgusting, the streets lined with trash, not hope and the buildings rising out of broken hearts instead of happy times. Glowing windows kept the warmth for those inside and hid it from those who lived on the streets. Busy people walked around hurriedly everyday, sparing a smile or two for their friends (if they even had any time for friends) or people they wanted to impress but only giving a glare or sneer for those below them.

Yes, it was good that Grantaire drew what that little girl saw, otherwise she would probably dashed as fast as she could away from here.

“Thank you, mister! This is perfect! Thank you so much!” She accepted the picture and dug through her pocket, coming up with a handful of money. “Here, take this.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t owe me anything. It was a pleasure to draw for you.”

“No, no. Take it, please.” She grabbed his hand and dropped the money in his palm. She then closed his fingers around it and ran back to her family, waving back at Grantaire.

Grantaire waved back, pasting a grin on his face. As soon as she had merged with the giant crowds of people on the street, he opened his hand and stared uncertainly at the little stack of dollar bills and change in his hand. If that girl knew what he was going to end up buying with this money, she never would have given it to him. Or she would have ran away.

He was going to buy some more art supplies. He told himself that over and over again. He needed some new colored pencils and more lead for his cheap mechanical pencil. The cover of his sketchbook was falling off so he should buy some tape to fix it. He should get a new eraser because the one he had now was almost completely black from rolling around with his pencil shavings and rubbing away his mistakes. He should probably also buy some actual food because he hadn’t eaten anything except a bag of chips for almost a day now. He could also use a new beanie, then again, he always wanted a new beanie.

Haha, he was laughing at himself now. He should do all those things and he told himself that every time that he somehow ended up with some money, but he knew that he never would end up buying those things. He was going to buy alcohol.

He knew that he was an alcoholic. He had known that since he started drinking in high school. He had a drink from his father’s bottle one night, after a day of being hurt, torn apart and pieced back together before ripped apart again. He had a gulp, and another, then another and before he knew it, half the bottle was gone and his awful day had melted away. He had tried to stop but refused to go into rehab. He had tried so many times but just couldn’t stop, just like how he couldn’t stop his feet from walking to the nearest liquor store and buying a bottle of cheap vodka.

He sat on the street, his back against a wall of a random building with his backpack settled between his knees and twisted open the cap and took a gulp of the sweet poison.

It was gross (like the city).

It was delicious (like his favorite chocolate).

It was ugly (like himself and his soul).

It was wonderful (like the man he met).

He hated it. But he _needed_ it. (Just like his life.)

Grantaire took another swig of the vodka as he took out his sketchbook and flipped it open to a new page. The alcohol filled his mind with swirls of inspiration and pictures and also dulled the harshness of the universe. That inspiration flowed through his arm to his hand and then to his pencil. Flowers, trees, and cities appeared on the paper. People popped up with smiles on their faces and children running and laughing. This was the opposite of the world he believed in. This was the world he _wanted_ to believe in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RedAmbitions on Tumblr
> 
> Sorry for the wait! I've been checking all my chapters over when I'm done with them. Expect the next chapter up in about a week or so~


	4. Face of the Streets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras has the greatest friends ever (even if they sometimes make him want to strangle all of them).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, sorry!

Enjolras sat on Combeferre’s kitchen counter, his laptop balanced on his lap, held by one hand while the other was holding a hot mug of coffee. The cup was obviously Jehan’s. The handle was pink and the cup had cute kittens rolling around with balls of yarn. One of Courfeyrac’s cats — it’s the calico one, he thinks her name is Annie — laid down next to him and scratched lazily at Enjolras’s shirt. Oreo, the fat black and white cat, circled around Enjolras and tried to claw at the mug in Enjolras’s hand.

Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Jehan had spent weeks looking for an apartment that allowed pets at the start of school. With Courfeyrac’s three cats and Jehan’s kitten and bunny, they couldn’t live in the dorms or most apartments. Finally, they found this spacious apartment where all of their friends could gather and hang out. It was pricier than most, but they worked hard to keep the apartment and whenever they needed some help, everyone would pitch in. Every weekend, everyone would bring over a bag of groceries or snacks and they would all spend the day together, cooking, talking and watching movies. On weekdays, Enjolras would come over between classes to discuss things with Combeferre or watch an episode or two of some TV show with Courf and Jehan. Sometimes he just liked to come here and read through Combeferre’s extensive collection of books.

Today, he was planning that day’s meeting at the Musain. The group he had started — the Friends of the ABC — was starting to recruit more people. It had started with just eight of them, Enjolras himself, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Joly, Bossuet, Jehan, Bahorel and Feuilly, but new members were joining quickly, one of them being Marius. Then again, Marius could be barely considered part of their group. He was too idealistic and thought that they could accomplish everything and anything, and also disagreed with Enjolras on many political views. He was somewhat useful, and nice to have around until he became completely and utterly infatuated with some girl he randomly saw on the street. Then he became the daydreaming, sighing, glassy-eyed boy he was now.

Goddamn Pontmercy.

Combeferre came out from the bathroom, his brown hair wet from the shower and his blue shirt neatly buttoned up, damp at the shoulders where his hair dripped on it. He ran his fingers through his hair and put on his glasses which were fogged up from being in the steamy bathroom.

“You ready to go, Enjolras?” he asked, grabbing his school orchestra jacket from the back of the sofa. He tucked his phone into his pocket and took a fat binder off the shelf. It was filled with papers and colorful sticky notes poking out from all over the place. That was his Friends of the ABC binder in which he kept all his notes from their meetings and print outs that he thought might be useful. Enjolras was so glad that Combeferre was so dedicated to the cause, like he was.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Enjolras replied, closing her laptop and slipping it into his messenger bag. He drained the last of his coffee and leaned over to set the cup down next to the sink. Oreo slinked over to the cup and batted at it before realizing that it wasn’t anything to eat. “Thanks for the coffee, by the way.”

“No problem, but isn’t that your fourth cup today?”

“Yes. And?”

“You’re living on coffee Enjolras. That’s not good for you.”

Enjolras shrugged and slung his bag on his shoulder. “It’s fine. I’ll eat something later.”

Combeferre paused before saying, “Alright, do you want to get something after the meeting?”

“Sounds good,” Enjolras said, nodding.

They left together and headed for Cafe Musain, the coffee shop at the university which was the headquarters for the Friends of the ABC. The owners were nice enough to let the group meet there, but the customers definitely did not like them at all. Even with the group in the back room (sometimes spilling into the main store), they were loud and when they need go into the cafe, they hogged all the chairs, one person lounging across the squishy loveseats and the others jumping on top of them. Even when they didn’t have meetings there, most of the Friends hung out there and talked loudly about their fun, embarrassing lives for everyone to hear, but that was mostly just Courfeyrac.

Sometimes Enjolras wondered why he loved them all so much.

Combeferre’s apartment was about five minutes away from the school, which made it convenient for everyone to stop by during the day. Courfeyrac and Jehan had class so they were probably there already.

As soon as they entered the cafe, Enjolras was hit by a wall of noise. There wasn’t too many people in there but Courfeyrac and Bahorel probably counted for five people each and with Bossuet crashing into things and Joly yelling at his boyfriend (and everyone really) about germs, it was chaotic.

Normally, everyone listened to anything Enjolras said, but in this situation, he would just be making even more noise. This time, Combeferre took control and yelled at the room to shut up. Surprisingly, that worked.

Enjolras was so glad that he was best friends with him.

* * *

_Grantaire, or R…_

“Enjolras.”

_Enjolras…_

“Enjy~!”

_Hopefully, I’ll see you here again…_

“Enjolras. Enjolras!”

Enjolras was startled and almost fell off his chair. He had been holding his head up with his hand, staring blankly at the notes spread out across the table. Combeferre, Courfeyrac and the rest of the Friends looked at him from across the table. Enjolras blushed, gathering his papers together in a haphazard pile. He was supposed to be leading this meeting, instead, he was dozing off and thinking about a random man he had spoken to for no more than a minute.

He wasn’t thinking of revolution, he was thinking of the man’s dark curls. He wasn’t thinking of protests, he was thinking of the man’s collarbone, peeking out from his striped t-shirt. He wasn’t thinking of plans, he was thinking of that man’s clear, gray eyes.

“I… I have to go…” Enjolras said suddenly, shoving his notes into his bag along with his pens and laptop.

“Enjolras!” Combeferre said, shocked. He stood up hastily and grabbed Enjolras’s arm as he turned to leave. “Enjolras,” he hissed. “What are you doing? We’re in the middle of a meeting! What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Combeferre, I just can’t concentrate right now. I’m going to get a coffee. Can you finish up the meeting for me please?”

“Can’t you get a coffee downstairs? Musain is a cafe you know,” Combeferre said, confused.

“I… I just don’t feel like Musain coffee today. You know, sometimes I just like a change, ‘cause, uh, yeah,” Enjolras rambled. Enjolras always had words to say and when he talked incoherently like this, Combeferre knew something was wrong, but he just hesitated slightly before nodding.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said with a small smile. “I can always count on you.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Combeferre asked, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need some air and some caffeine.”

Combeferre smiled and let go of Enjolras. “Text me if you need anything.”

“And you text me if anything goes wrong here,” Enjolras replied, walking out of the cafe.

“Of course. I’ll see you later.”

Enjolras carefully closed the door behind him, relieved that Combeferre was always there to help out, even when Enjolras couldn’t completely explain everything or anything.

As soon as he was sure none of the Friends could see him, Enjolras dashed off to the coffee shop where he had met the young man who haunted his mind. He had to go find him.

Oh, and some more coffee wouldn’t hurt either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try to post a chapter every week, but I might be a bit late sometimes. I usually update quicker on my Tumblr: RedAmbitions if you wanna go and follow.
> 
> Thanks for reading~! :3


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